Highwayman
by Jenifer1
Summary: Different incarnations of a Guide through history. Based on the song by Willie Nelson. *UPDATED!*
1. Highwayman

_Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to UPN/Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. The song, "Highwayman," belongs to Waylon Jennings,Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Jimmy L. Webb. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands. _

Author's note: WARNING! Character death! (Many times) 

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Highwayman 

* * *

_I was a highwayman _

Along the coach roads, I did ride 

Sword and pistol by my side 

Many a maiden lost her baubles to my trade 

Many a soldier left his life's blood on my blade 

The bastards hung me in the spring of '45 

But I'm still alive 

* * *

1645, France... 

Louis du Brebond sat on the stollen horse, fairly well hidden in the brush, watching for the Musketeers to ride on by his position. The former thief was in anguish over the choice that had been forced on _son Guardien,_ either to hang him or hang beside him. Jean du Pris was a Musketeer himself, had joined them to protect King Louis and the people of France, not to become Richlieu's puppet, but the man'd had full controll over the throne, and almost nothing had been able to stop him. Now, with things settling back out, at least for now, old warrents were being cleared, and his own from his time as one of the better skilled highwaymen of the county had been brought to the attention of the Captain. 

Louis had never told Jean of his crimes, preferring to protect _le Guardien_ from recriminations should the secret be uncovered, knowing that, not only would it tear their friendship apart, but it could put him in danger. And now he was running from the Musketeers, a prospect he knew was probably futile, but it was the only chance he had to save Jean from his past. He would force another soldier to kill him before Jean could catch up to the search party. He wouldn't have to see it happen. He regretted that the man would have to see his corpse and arrange for his burial, but Louis felt that it was far preferable to Jean dying as well. 

Still, the mischieveous side of him wanted to give the soldiers a run for their money. None of them had ever treated Jean with even the barest respect, never allowing him to exercise his full potential as _un Guardien,_ so _le Compagnon_ had no problem with forcing a chase. Louis pulled out behind the troop of Musketeers and urged the horse forward, following behind the clueless soldiers. It was the one in front of the pack that was Jean's worst enemy, the one who was continually working to get Jean kicked out of the Musketeers, and he planned to use Louis's trial to achieve that. The man was well aware that Jean du Pris would not allow his friend to be hung like that without intervening, which would guarantee that he would also be hung. Louis could not allow that, and he imagined that if he could remove that man, Jean's position in the Musketeers would be far more secure, at least so that they wouldn't arrest him. 

Louis worked his way through the line of soldiers with brutal efficiency. In that part of his mind that was not taken up by the task and that of holding on to his emotions, he knew that he would loose control of his stomach as soon as he was done. He had never enjoyed killing, though he'd had to do it many times in his life. He was good at it, but he hated it, both the blood and the taking of a life, and he often wished that he'd never taken up the sword, but then he never would have met Jean. The path a life takes in it's beginning would always show it's future, and he wouldn't have given up knowing Jean for anything. 

Finally, he reached the front of the line. Seven dead men lay on the trail behind them, all killed silently so as not to allert the leader. His name was Luc Benois, and he had hated Jean even before either of them had joined the Musketeers, blaming him for the death of his father because Jean had frozen during the fire that killed him, mesmirized by the light of the fire. He had decided that Jean would have to pay for that accident, if not with his life, then with his career. Louis knew that Benois had been the one who found his warrants, as well, so he had plenty of reason to kill the man. 

Louis leapt from the saddle, slamming into Benois and pulling him off his own horse and throwing the both of them to the ground. Both men rolled to a standing position, swords drawn. "Benois!" 

The soldier sneered at the criminal in front of him. He was sure of his own skills and he felt like taunting his prey, although he soon realized that there was no one behind him. His men had already fallen to du Brebond's skill with a blade. "Du Brebond. I hope you are ready to die. Have you atoned for your sins? Are you ready to meet God?" 

Louis shook his head. "I don't know. But I do know that Jean is a good man, and I will do everything in my power to keep him safe, even at the cost of my own soul." 

Benois raised an eyebrow at the man. If nothing else, he at least admired that kind of loyalty, so he saluted his opponent and they began circling. Swords clashed, lunge and parry, slash and block, both men using the terrain to their advantage. Louis and Benois both had the speed, but the former highwayman's skill was far greater, and the Musketeer was overconfident. The confrontation only lasted minutes before _le Compagnon_ ran his adversary through. 

However, Louis made one final miscalculation. As he removed the blade from the torso of his _son Gardien_ enemy, the man pulled a pistol from his belt beneath his cloak, where Louis would not see it, and fired. The ball struck its target in the chest, and both men fell, dying at the same instant. 

Minutes later, with a pardon in his hands and a company of men at his back, Jean du Pris rode into the clearing that had witnessed the passing of _son Compagnon._ Jean had convinced Louis to grant the pardon in defference to the aid he had rendered during the overthrow of Richlieu, but now it was too late. _Le Compagnon_ lay dead on the ground, and nothing mattered any more. 

Cradling the cooling form of his best friend in his arms, Jean noticed a slip of paper sticking out of his belt pouch through the tears that had filled his eyes. Removing it to reveal _son Compagnon_ last words, he read... 

Jean, 

I hope that you never have to read this letter. I sit here writing this on the night before we go to face our destinies against Cardinal Richlieu. If you ever read this, it will mean that I have died before you, and I wish to clear my conscience. I never told you about my past. As a highwayman, I stole from the wealthy to help my mother survive, and I killed to keep myself alive. I have never been a stranger to violence, though it has always sickened me. I hope that you can forgive me, _mon Gardien, mon ami, mon frère. _

Dieu protège le Roi! 

Louis du Brebond 

_God protect the King!_ It was fitting that those be the last words of _son Compagnon_ should be that prayer. Fitting as well that they should be his own. He had become a Musketeer in order to protect the King and France, but now, without Louis to help him, he would not be able to do so. Fitting that he should ask God to do what he no longer could before passing into His keeping. 

Jean lowered his soulmate gently to the ground and kissed both his cheeks. He whispered, "Wait for me, _mon frère._ I will be with you soon." Then he pulled back and stood, turning to face the enemy that Louis had given his life to destroy for _son Gardien,_ making certain that he was dead. No heartbeat came from the body, and Jean felt unholy satisfaction that Louis had been successful. Finally, he turned to his lieutenant, pulling the pardon from its place in his belt pouch. "Give this to his mother. She should know that her son was a hero to France. I swore to protect the King with my life. Without Louis by my side, I can no longer do that, so my life is forfiet." He drew his pistol and stepped back, turning to face the countryside. It was a beautiful day, with fluffy white clouds dancing lazily along the horizon and a cool breeze blowing through the valley. Perfect. "_Pour Dieu et la France!_" And then he put the pistol to his head. 

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_This is only the first chapter of what will be a series that will cover the entire song, Highwayman, plus one chapter that includes the canon characters post TSbyBS. If you know the song, then you know the basic plot of the first three chapters, but the other two should have some surprises. _

Feedback would be good! 


	2. Sailor

Sailor 

_Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to UPN/Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. The song, "Highwayman," belongs to Waylon Jennings,Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Jimmy L. Webb. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands. _

Author's note: WARNING! Character death! (Many times) 

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Sailor 

* * *

_I was a sailor _

I was born upon the tide 

With the sea, I did abide 

I sailed a schooner 'round the horn to Mexico 

Got sent aloft to furl the main sails in a blow 

And when the yards broke up, they said that I got killed 

But I'm livin' still 

* * *

1849, SS David,_ Gulf of California..._

Duncan McAllester climbed to the top of the rigging, praying he could get the damned main sail tied down before the storm could shread it. Captain Eric Marley was fighting the wheel with all his strength, trying to keep the ship running with the the blow, but the current wanted to spin and toss them broadside to the wind, a sure-fire way to skuttle the ship. 

Eric had known the storm was coming, but the crew had chosen to disbelieve his extraordinary senses, and he'd had to deal with a near mutiny. The Armsmaster had declared that no man could possibly have seen signs of a storm that was yet to rise. Storms in those waters were fast and furious, coming up with little or no warning, but Eric, whose senses were somehow greater than those of ordinary men, had sensed a change in the weight of the air pressing down on him from the heavens. Because of the mutiny, there had been no time to get the ship ready, and now it was going to kill them all. Even the gentle Duncan might have drowned Jacob O'Reiley if he could ever get his hands on him, but that would have to wait. They had a blow to fight. 

This was enough to make a man afraid of heights! He'd nearly been blown off the rigging three times already, and he could swear the damned yards were bending. If he didn't get the sails furled soon, the ship would be blown to pieces. Of course, it might help if certain mutinous sailors would get off their arses and help him out, but O'Reiley was just sitting there, staring at the storm like he couldn't believe it was real. 

McAllester had met Marley in a small cantina in California. The lure of gold had brought both men from their East Coast homes to that place, and when the claims came up dry, the whisky had called them to drown their sorrows. Eric came from money, so he wasn't hurting, but he was a sea captain, not a miner, so he was completely out of his element. Duncan was a man who could do anything he needed to do, and he had chosen at least twenty professions in his life, but the one he had loved the most was sailing. 

He'd told the captain of his family, his sister in the Oregon country and his mother in Boston, and Eric had, in turn, spoken of his parents in New York and the twin brother he never saw. Then, of course, came the discussion of the ladies in their lives. Duncan seemed to blow through the female population of a town two minutes before he left it, where Eric was contemplating marrying the lovely Alice when he returned to New England. 

As they both loved sailing, the two men decided to give up on the foolish dream of a fast fortune in gold and throw in their lots together on the sea. Eric spent the last of his traveling money to buy and provision a ship, and they set about trying to gain a goods charter to start their shipping business. They were quickly successful, and gathering a crew was simple enough, what with all the miners who were down on their luck. 

It was on their first voyage together when they discovered that Eric had been gifted, or cursed, with extraordinary senses, abilities that he had finally come to terms with when Duncan had managed to show him they could be used to help people. The big captain had decided that, once this term with the merchant company was up, he was going back to New England to join the Navy, and McAllester planned to go with him. He didn't feel it would be a good idea to let Eric go without him, knowing what he did about his tendancy to black out if he was concentrating too hard on one of his senses. If someone wasn't there to bring him back, he could end up getting himself killed, especially on a ship in calm waters. Without the stimulation of at least choppy seas, he could get lost in the sparkle of light on the surface of the water or the movement of a school of fish under the surface. It really wouldn't be good especially in some American waters, like the Gulf of Mexico, where storms could spring up out of nowhere in an amazingly short period of time. 

Their lives had seemed to glow with the promise of a future together, but none of that was going to be a reality if they couldn't save the ship. 

Suddenly Duncan was brought back from his thoughts by a distinct and eerie sound from below him, that of snapping wood. The yards were breaking! 

Captain Marley looked up in horror at the snap of the mast. Time stood still as the man who clung to it spoke to him. "Not your fault, Eric. Please don't ever believe this was your fault. Name your first son for me, all right?" And time resumed and the mast snapped off completely, crashing into the deck. 

The only sounds that could be heard were the howling of both the storm and the captain of the ship it was trying to devour. 

* * *

Eric never joined the Navy. His love of the sea died with the man who had been his best friend. He never set foot on another ship, travelling overland to reach his home in New York. He did marry Alice, though, and she gave him three sons, Duncan, Eric Jr. and William, and two daughters, Summer and Winter. His life was a happy one, but always there was the sadness of living without his brother soul. And strangely enough, after Duncan's death, Eric never experienced another episode of heightened awareness, as though without that man in his life, such things were impossible. He could think of no other explanation. 

He died in his sleep on the thirty-fifth aniversary of the death of Duncan McAllester. To her dying day, Alice swore that she had seen a wolf enter his bedroom that night, and when she went to investigate, she had found her husband dead, but without a mark on him. It became a favored ghost story of the family for many years. 

* * *

Well, this one was hard to write. I don't know enough about sailing to have made this one as acurate as I could have wished. If I screwed something up, somebody PLEASE tell me! I'll fix it! Feed back very welcome! 


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